


Cruisin'

by saltyavocado



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: F/M, Fake Fake Dating, High School Reunion Anxiety, Past Relationship(s), Sex Drugs 'n Rock and Roll Baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyavocado/pseuds/saltyavocado
Summary: "You're on TV," Eric replies, reaching up to flick her nose gently. She giggles and swats at his hand. "Who cares if you're not married? Other than you, anyway."





	Cruisin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarastark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/gifts).



**May 17, 1989  
Point Place, Wisconsin**

"This is a terrible idea," Eric says.

"Oh, I know," Jackie replies, hitching her knee a bit higher on the dashboard so she can reach her pinkie toe. How she's able to paint with a steady hand while Eric's doing eighty-five in the express lane is nothing short of a miracle of human innovation. "I think we're gonna have fun, though."

"Fun? No. Agony and humiliation? Much more likely."

"A _little_ bit of fun," Jackie persists, capping her nail polish with a grin. "Don't be a Debbie Downer, Eric."

"I'm just a realist. Graduate school does that to you."

"Think about how impressed everyone's gonna be by your beard," Jackie chirps, reaching over to scratch the side of Eric's jaw. He pushes her hand away, scowling. "You're like a real man, now."

"Please shut up."

"And the best part is that your parents are gonna be out of town," Jackie continues, still trying to cajole him back into a good mood. To Eric's irritation, it's sort of working. "We'll have the entire house to ourselves, and Red won't even _be there,_ Eric." She nudges his arm with one tiny fist. "He's not gonna say a _single word_ to you the entire week. Because he's in _Orlando._ That's hundreds and hundreds and _hundreds of miles away._ "

It's actually one thousand, three hundred and sixty-eight miles, approximately, not that Eric had looked it up or anything. "They're probably gonna call like every day, though."

"They're very upset they're missing you, I'm sure," Jackie says neutrally. 

"More like Red is worried we're gonna reenact the plot of Animal House in the living room."

"Red's seen Animal House?"

"I'm almost sure he has a very strong opinion on it," Eric says, switching lanes to pass a slow-moving Honda. One thing he does actually appreciate about Jackie is that she doesn't care that he drives like a maniac - a definite plus in her personality column overall. "You know none of them are gonna believe us."

"Then we'll just have to be really, _really_ convincing," Jackie says, with the same determination he's heard her say other sentences with, like _no, we are not going to jail tonight,_ and _I'm almost sure I cooked the chicken all the way through._ "Besides. They haven't seen us in five years. It's been a whole five, hasn't it?"

Eric takes a second to count. "I got accepted to NYU in '84, so - "

"I mean, they haven't seen _you,_ " Jackie interrupts with a smug smile. "Me, they see every day, of course."

"Yeah," Eric says dryly, rolling his eyes as he presses the gas to speed up for an oncoming hill, "I'm sure Donna and Hyde are _avid_ watchers of Brackwater Lane."

Jackie blithely ignores his derision, as usual. "Don't worry," she assures him, "they'll buy it. How are they gonna know we're lying, anyway? And what would it matter to them to prove us wrong?"

Eric stays silent this time, thinking grimly about the week ahead of him. 

"It's gonna be fine," Jackie continues, sounding more like she's reassuring herself than Eric at this point, "we're gonna knock 'em dead, they're gonna drool all over themselves about how hot and successful we are, Donna and Steven will be insanely jealous - not that we care - and when it's over we'll go back to New York and never talk about this ever again. You know - like real grown ups do."

Eric just shakes his head. "You better knock on wood after a speech like that," he warns, and Jackie, obligingly, raps her knuckles against the paneling of the dashboard. Then she turns back to her bag, and pulls out an already half-empty bottle of Pepto Bismol, and takes a long swig. 

"Give me some of that," Eric demands, holding out one hand. 

Jackie shakes her head, wiping her mouth with her arm. "Get your own, Forman," she says. 

 

 

 

The idea - which is a bad idea, let's be clear - came about as most of their ideas do: drunkenly. Jackie was on a month-long string of late night set calls - her character Siobhan was apparently involved in some kind of yachting disaster, which Eric had picked up from the summaries of her soap opera that he usually read in the TV Guides in line at the grocery store - and Eric was still knee deep in existential anxiety about his upcoming oral defense. This reckless combination led to vodka and orange juice at three-thirty AM in Eric's shitty Brooklyn walk-up, which is never a great situation to put their relationship in. Jackie is a combative person, to put it lightly, and Eric's relationship with her is based largely on carefully controlled environments. (When possible, anyway, which isn't often.)

"You're supposed to bring a hot boyfriend to these things," Jackie said mournfully, rereading the reunion letter for the hundredth time, "the last hot boyfriend I had was Deacon, and he wasn't even _real_."

"Siobhan's boyfriends do not count as your boyfriends," Eric said, as gently as possible. 

"They _have_ to though, because if they don't then it means I haven't dated anyone since Fez," Jackie said, and then her face crumpled. "Oh God, Eric, I haven't _dated anyone since Fez._ "

A grim sentence indeed. It'd taken another half bottle to get her to stop blubbering. 

"If it makes you feel better," Eric said, trying to drag her out of melancholy by reminding her of his own pathetic personal life, "the last time I had sex was with that Greenpeace girl the night Reagan got reelected."

"Ugh, the one who didn't shave her pits?"

"And the annoying laugh, yeah," Eric said. "It was also terrible. She rammed her knee into my stomach so hard I almost puked."

Jackie laughed weakly, face down on his kitchen table. The reunion letter was crumpled in one fist, half-drenched in orange juice. 

"We don't _have_ to go, you know," Eric said, rubbing her shoulder. "It's not like a requirement, and besides - what do you care what they think? I mean, it's not like we're that close to any of them anymore, and we live so far away we only run into them when we visit home - "

"It's the principle of the thing, Eric," Jackie cried. She lifted her head, and her face was weepy and streaked with the leftovers of her stage makeup. It was a sad sight indeed. "I had a plan for my life, you know. I was supposed to be married by now. And not that I would've been happy marrying Fez, or - or Steven, but - " her voice cracked, and Eric cut her off, not being able to bear anymore of it. 

"Hey," he said, "I get it."

"My mom will be there," Jackie said miserably, and Eric will look back on that moment later as the point of no return, probably. 

It's not like Eric minds pretending to be her boyfriend, since after all she is still the most beautiful woman he's ever met, a TV star to boot, and also pretty affectionate as a friend - let alone as a fake girlfriend. (He has watched _some_ of her show. Siobhan gets around.) But as she'd said - it's the principle of the thing. She's above this kind of thing, now. Or - she should be. 

It suits her - the life she's made for herself. Eight years ago, when Eric's research apprenticeship was accepted at NYU, she'd been a strung out, anxious version of herself that Eric barely recognized - hung up on Hyde, still stewing in anger at her dad, chasing herself in circles in Point Place. Tagging along with him to New York was more an act of desperation than anything else, but everyone knew - Jackie included - that it was the best, smartest move she could've made. Her breakout daytime TV career ended up being more of a bonus, really. 

It's not like Eric's not aware what the squirmy feeling in his gut is, whenever she falls back into old patterns, which is where the 'carefully controlled environments' come in. But some things are eternal, and among those is his tendency to be a pushover in the face of crying girls he cares about. 

C'est la vie. Or whatever. 

 

 

 

Red and Kitty have left them Post-It notes - his mother's newest household obsession, according to the monthly phone call Eric endures - in almost every room of the house. Most of Red's consist of variants of "don't smoke anything on this couch," but Kitty's are bordering on helpful. 

"Aw, she left me her brownie recipe," Jackie says, squinting at three bright blue ones stuck to the fridge. "I bet I can fuck this up _royally_ tonight."

"Even your fucked up brownies are better than mine," Eric says pragmatically. He's already twitchy just being here - the decor hasn't changed at all since at least 1978, and he's starting to have flashbacks. He hasn't been down to the basement yet, and he won't step foot down there this entire week if he can help it. "You want Laurie's old room or the master?"

Jackie shudders. "Can't I take your old room?"

"Red definitely turned it into a gym the second I moved my stuff out."

Jackie snorts. "The master it is. Slut cooties have a long shelf life, you know."

"So I've been told." Eric glances out through the patio doors to the driveway, and feels a shudder of his own work its way down his shoulders. "God, I hate this house."

Jackie reaches over the kitchen island and tugs at his arm. "I know, but don't dwell. Remember - you're _Doctor Forman_ now."

"A doctor of history," Eric says. 

"So? You don't have to say that when you introduce yourself." Jackie beams at him. "You wanna get high and help me fuck up some brownies? It'll make you feel better."

"How will we manage that when we're not allowed to smoke on any of the couches?" Eric asks, grinning at her. 

"I guess we'll just have to smoke in his armchair then," Jackie says, eyes wide and fakely innocent. Eric laughs in her face, feeling a little better despite himself. 

Jackie gets good shit from one of her costars, a closeted actor who Jackie used to pretend-date as a favor, back when the show was still new. Eric had sworn off weed for the last year or so of the PhD - paranoid enough already by the daunting prospect of the comprehensive exams that were quickly approaching - but now that he's safely graduated, he's been partaking every time she offers. Which has been a lot, the closer they've gotten to this week. 

"God," Jackie says, relaxing back into Red's Cold War-era armchair, her feet propped up on the edge of the bookcase. "I'm so stressed. Do I look stressed? How are my eye bags?"

"Minimal," Eric says, taking the pipe out of her slack fingers. "How're mine?"

"Non-existent," Jackie says resentfully. He can already see it hitting her - her pupils are a little blown already, her speech slower than usual. Eric takes a larger than usual hit just to catch up. "You have great skin, Eric. Have I ever told you that?"

"Literally like a thousand times since we were sixteen," Eric says, setting the pipe high up on Red's bookshelf, too far to reach without stretching. If they're going to be using the oven then two hits each (or three, but who's counting) is more than enough. "I thought everything was gonna be fine? Donna and Hyde were gonna drool on something."

Jackie scrunches up her face cutely. "No, it's probably gonna be a disaster," she says lazily. 

Eric snorts with laughter, leaning hard against the side of her chair. His head is already spinning - she really does get the best of the best. Nothing like the ditchweed they used to smoke when they were kids, that's for sure. 

"Thanks for doing this, however it ends up." Jackie rolls her head against the cushion, leaning over the arm of the chair to peer down at him, still sitting next to her on the floor. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

"You're on TV," Eric replies, reaching up to flick her nose gently. She giggles and swats at his hand. "Who cares if you're not married? Other than you, anyway."

Jackie just sighs. "Steven's married."

Eric shakes his head. "So is Donna. But that doesn't mean anything."

"How does it not mean anything?"

"Because…" Eric struggles to find the words in the current fog clogging up his brain. "Because you're on fucking TV, Jackie!"

She laughs. "You're an idiot."

"Shut up. Let's go make brownies."

Her eyes go wide. " _Yes,_ " she says, and scrambles out of the chair. Eric laughs, crawling to his own feet to follow her. 

Most of the batter, predictably, ends up either on the counter or on their spoons rather than in the pan, but at any rate, they do turn out very brownie-like. A little crusty around the edges, but whatever. Eric and Jackie end up on the little porch swing next to the driveway, still riding the edges of their high, sharing the pan between them with two forks and one of Kitty's gigantic bottles of red wine they'd found wedged behind the green bean cans in the pantry cupboard. 

"I love this house," Jackie says with a dreamy sigh. There's a streak of chocolate batter on her cheek that she hasn't noticed yet, and Eric's certainly not about to point it out. "I loved coming here, you know. Half the reason I ended up dating those idiots for so long was because I didn't want to give up coming over here."

Knowing what Eric does now about her childhood, he's not particularly surprised. "You could've kept coming over, even if you hadn't been dating one of us."

Jackie shoots him a dry look. "Sure," she says, and takes a swig of the wine. 

"No, I mean it. We were friends, weren't we?" Eric frowns. "I mean - you and Donna were friends, but you and I were friends too, right?"

"Sort of. By proxy." She shakes her head. "What does it matter now? We're better at being friends now that we're grown ups."

"Ostensibly grown up, anyway." Eric shrugs. "I don't know. You could've come to me. I'd like to think I wouldn't have laughed at you, or anything."

"You would've definitely laughed at me," Jackie says sadly, but without any anger at all. "But I would've laughed at you too, so. I would've deserved it."

They sit there in silence for a second, contemplating. 

"We were such _dicks,_ " Eric says. 

Jackie laughs. "We really were." They clink their glasses together. "Anyway, I wouldn't have gone to anybody. I wasn't really that kind of person back then."

"I guess not." Eric nudges her shoulder with his own, thinking: _are you that kind of person now?_ He's not really sure of the answer. "You sure you wanna go through with this? We can still back out, you know. Just hang out here for a few days and drive back."

"They'll think we chickened out," Jackie points out. "Because that's exactly what we'd be doing - chickening out. Are you a _chicken,_ Eric?"

"I am absolutely a chicken, yes," Eric says. "I've come to terms with it."

Jackie just laughs and shoves another brownie wedge in her mouth. Somehow, she looks hot doing it. Eric really is a sucker.

"Fine. But if you're gonna make me wear that suit you brought then I get to pick out your clothes," he says. 

"What? No way!"

"I have stipulations," Eric says. "Short skirt is a must. Shoulders bare. Maybe some Princess Leia buns? That'd be hot."

"I fucking hate you, no," Jackie says. "My hair will be lightly curled with minimal hairspray, loose around my shoulders with a half-up style twist, maybe braided, maybe not - I haven't decided yet."

"Oh what? No, that's what I was gonna do to _my_ hair," Eric exclaims. 

"Your hair's not long enough," Jackie replies seriously, her mouth barely even twitching. 

"Bummer." Eric runs his hand through it, keeping the face long enough to see her break, hiding a grin behind another forkful of brownie. "You've _got_ to wear something slutty, though."

"Slutty but tasteful," Jackie agrees. "I brought multiple options."

"Oh, so _that's_ what we're doing tomorrow? I was wondering," Eric says. 

"Duh," Jackie says. 

 

 

 

They have a couple days before the reunion - there are other _events,_ a few mixers at the local hotel bars, some sort of volleyball game, a golfing expedition to Kenosha - but just the reunion itself is torture enough. Eric spends the first full day at home avoiding Bob Pinciotti, mostly - something that only takes him about five hours to fail spectacularly at. 

"Eric!" Bob looks largely the same, save a bit more gray in his 'fro. It's Midge he's with currently, then - if he were on-again with Pam, she'd have made him dye it. "Thought that was you. Hey, you look great!"

"Hey, Bob," Eric says, through gritted teeth. He's frozen on the front steps, cigarette still burning in one hand. He'd _thought_ the coast was clear, goddamn it. "Thanks. I put some effort in today, as you can see," he says, gesturing to his ripped jeans and dirty Clapton t-shirt, both about five years past their prime. 

Bob doesn't seem to get the joke. "You're tellin' me. Nice beard." He claps Eric's shoulder and winks. "Makes ya look older. Not that you need help there! Boy, I thought someone had broken in, when I saw you from across the lawn."

"Yeah, I saw you standing over there by the mailbox," Eric says. "Must have been a pretty intense mail day, since you were standing there for so long."

"Gets wedged sometimes," Bob says, "you know. Stuck in the grooves."

"Uh huh," says Eric. 

"So here for the reunion?" Bob says. "Donna and Cam are here for it, too. That's her husband, you know - Cam."

"Right, I know that Bob," says Eric. 

"Cam's short for Cameron."

"Huh," Eric says, his hand twitching. Would it be rude to keep smoking? He's unclear on the etiquette - he hadn't taken up cigarettes until grad school, and PhD students don't give a shit about anything. 

"He was a sound mixer for Dylan," Bob says proudly. "Blood on the Tracks. Definitely the best one."

For a guy who spent most of the 70s blasting Barry Manilow records, this sounds especially absurd. "Yep. I knew that too."

"Sorry, don't mean to rub it in," Bob says, clapping his shoulder again. Eric winces, goes for broke, and takes a drag of his cigarette. "They're at one of the mixers now, I think. The shindig down at the pool hall. They're staying at the Hilton downtown, so I think you're safe for tonight - won't see them around this old neighborhood!"

"You know, Bob," Eric starts, but the door thankfully blasts open before he can finish _that_ sentence.

"Eric!" Jackie exclaims. Eric does a double take when he sees her; she's wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and the sweater he'd discarded last night on the floor of Red's office, her hair still tangled from bed. "There you are, I was looking for you! Oh, hi Mr. Pinciotti." She ducks her chin a little, showing off the chops that got her three Daytime Emmy nominations for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series in a row. "Sorry, I didn't know you were here."

"Well, hi there, Jackie, it's been a long time," Bob says, his eyes practically falling out of his head. He keeps his eyes, thankfully, a few feet above Jackie's left shoulder. "Are you two…"

"What?" Jackie interrupts, and laughs loudly. "Dating? No. We're just friends." She reaches out and squeezes Eric's shoulder. "We decided to drive back together, that's all. We both live in New York, you know."

"You drove from New York?" Bob asks blankly. 

"Well, we flew and then we drove, of course," Jackie says. Eric can't stop staring at her legs. "No airport here in Point Place! We rented the _cutest_ car. But anyway - Eric, do you know where your mom keeps her frying pan? I'm trying to make us some breakfast, but all I can find are the baking dishes."

"Uh," Eric says, twitching a little as he's suddenly addressed. "I think - the cupboard next to the silverware drawer? You might have to dig a little."

"Okay, thanks." Jackie beams at them both. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Pinciotti. Will we see you at the reunion? The flyer said something about a neighborhood barbecue afterwards."

"Sure thing, honey," Bob says, still wide-eyed. Both he and Eric stare at her as she twirls back inside, shutting the door behind her. 

"Well," Bob says, after a minute. "She's certainly...all grown up."

She's a fucking genius, Eric marvels. Remembering the cigarette in his hand, Eric takes another long drag, feeling it go straight to his head. 

"Hey, those things'll kill ya," Bob says, after an awkward beat of silence. 

"Oh, I sure hope so, Bob," Eric says. 

 

 

 

Rattling around his parents' house for two days is borderline torture, so the day before the reunion, Jackie and Eric venture out into the wild. Specifically - the dive bar at the edge of town. 

"This place is so gross," Jackie declares in a strident voice, making several heads turn. Then she plops herself down at the bar and orders a bourbon straight. 

"Liquid courage, Jacks," Eric says, edging up next to her. Down the way, he spots a few familiar faces, all of whom turn away quickly the second he makes eye contact. He groans internally. "Let's call it preparation for tomorrow."

"Is that Chip Donahue?" Jackie hisses, following his line of sight. "Ugh, why did we come here."

"You're the one that didn't want to go drink at the water tower," Eric says. 

"Somebody _died_ there, Eric!"

"Nobody I ever knew," Eric says with a shrug. He orders a bourbon too, but with soda - he's driving, after all. "You wanna go talk to him? Rub it in his face a little? You're dating a _doctor_ now."

"No, I really do not want to talk to stupid Chip Donahue," Jackie says sourly. She jerks her chin at him. "Sit down, why don't you? Put your arm around me, pretend like you like me."

"I do like you," Eric says, following orders obediently. "Even when you boss me around."

"Only because I want the best for you," Jackie says sweetly. "No - not like that, you're making me feel like we're at Prom."

Eric scowls, pulling his arm away and pulling her closer by her barstool instead. "There. Good enough, your highness?"

Jackie tangles their feet together below the stools, leaning her weight down on one elbow. Batting her eyelashes, she stares straight at his face until he breaks, laughing into his bourbon glass. "Much better. Thanks."

"Get out of my face, Siobhan," Eric says. 

"That's no way to talk to a thrice-divorced high school principal," Jackie says, in her Siobhan voice - a surprisingly convincing Irish accent it'd taken her months to learn. 

"Is she divorced _again?_ I really thought Mikhail was the one," Eric says. 

"They found out they were cousins," Jackie says breezily. 

Eric chokes on his bourbon.

"But in the season premiere, they're going to find out that they're not actually related, it was actually just a plot by Deacon to break them up," Jackie continues.

"Is that what you were filming with the red dress? The one you showed me with the Jackie Kennedy hat?"

"No, that was for Arielle's funeral."

"Arielle died?!"

"Eric! Do you _ever_ watch my show?" Jackie demands.

"Why do I need to watch it when I can just call you, and you'll fill me in?"

"You could make some effort to support your new girlfriend, you know," Jackie says, tucking a smile into the corner of her mouth. 

"Sorry," Eric says, "do you want me to go beat up Chip?"

She snorts. 

"I could do it, you know," Eric says, eyeing him over her shoulder. "He looks like he might be a meth head now."

"Omigod, I was just thinking the _same thing,_ " Jackie says. 

"It's in the face," Eric agrees. "There's healthy skinny, and meth skinny. The difference is in the neck."

"Man, they really taught you a lot at PhD school," Jackie says. 

"Well, I am a doctor."

Three bourbons in, and they're both feeling pretty loose - loose enough that when another familiar face walks into the bar, Jackie leaps up from her seat and gives him a giggly hug. 

"Well, hey there Jackie Burkhart," Buddy Morgan says, thinner and a bit trendier, but still as awkwardly cute as he was fourteen years ago, "good to see you. I didn't think you'd make it back for this stupid thing, what with your fancy TV career!"

"Well, I always have time for fans," Jackie jokes sloppily, reaching back for Eric's hand. "Also, I'm dating Eric now. So you can hit on him, but you have to ask me for permission first."

"Jackie," Eric hisses, rolling his eyes. Buddy just laughs, though. 

"Learned my lesson the first time," he says, giving Eric a friendly, 'not gonna hit on you, don't worry' nod. "Also, I'm taken now, too."

"Ooh! By who?"

"His name's Lee - we met in college," Buddy says, leaning against the back of Jackie's chair, subtly helping her back into it with one hand. Eric, feeling a little less magnanimous, hauls her back upright by her elbow, hooking one of his ankles around her calf to keep her in place. "Congratulations, guys - I always knew you two would would get on well, if you ever gave it a shot."

"Well, it took her about a decade to work her way around to me," Eric says, ignoring Jackie's pouty glare. "You know how she is - takes a while to make up her mind."

Buddy shoots them a knowing grin. "You guys going to the reunion? You're gonna make a splash for sure."

"Donna and her Bob Dylan husband will make a bigger one, I'm sure," Jackie says. She reaches out and fusses with Eric's collar. "Me and Eric - we're playing it lowkey."

"Yeah, but they come to town all the time," Buddy says with a friendly grin. "You guys - you're like the long lost cousins, shipwrecked at sea, miraculously returned to their hometown just in time for the big wedding…"

Jackie gasps. "You watch my show?"

"Of _course_ I watch your show!" Buddy jostles her shoulder gently, grinning. "You're amazing. The best character by far. Lee and I never miss an episode."

"I knew I always liked you," Jackie says, smiling so wide her cheeks are blushed red and reaching up to grab Buddy's cheeks. "I was totally rooting for you, you know. If Eric wasn't as straight as a lightsaber, I'd totally let you have him."

"A lightsaber?" Buddy repeats, making eye contact with Eric and laughing. 

"Yeah, I came up with that one," Eric says, rolling his eyes behind her head. "Jacks, let go of the man's face - you're a mess."

"I'm not a mess!" Jackie says, offended. As she whips her head around, her bun falls out, and she leans back into Eric's shoulder instead, blinking and fumbling for her hair clip. "Okay, maybe a little bit of mess."

"We're preparing for tomorrow by drinking until we can't feel our faces," Eric says to Buddy, blowing some of Jackie's hair out of his face. "Wanna join? You can have the rest of her bourbon."

"Don't mind if I do," Buddy says, still laughing. 

Turns out Buddy is a lawyer now, working his first real gig at the DA's office up in Kenosha, so he's got all the dirt on everybody, basically. 

"Are you kidding, the first thing I did was search Kelso's name in our file database," Buddy says. "He's been sanctioned a lot - like a _lot_ \- but turns out he's a really good cop, so they keep promoting him."

"I can't believe they gave him a _gun_ ," Eric marvels. After all these years, he's still not over it. 

"He's not that terrible!" Jackie defends. "Stupid, but aren't most cops stupid? It suits him."

"Fair point," Buddy says. "Now, do you want the dirt on Steve Hyde or what?"

Jackie sits straight up on her stool, so fast she almost knocks her head into Eric's chin. "Are you kidding? _Yes._ "

Buddy grins. "Two words: tax shelter."

Jackie gasps. "My dad totally taught him that," she says accusingly. 

Eric rolls his eyes, pulling her back down against his shoulder. "He had a rich scummy dad too, in case you forgot."

"Yeah, but he probably got it from my dad first," Jackie grumbles. She glances at Buddy out of the corner of her eye. "He's not coming tomorrow, is he?"

"Word is probably not," Buddy says. "His divorce is getting pretty dirty - everybody's talking about it."

Neither of them had known _that_ \- but Jackie covers it up pretty well. "I thought Melissa was pregnant?"

"She is," Buddy says, shaking his head. "Pretty sad thing. He comes in here a lot," he continues, making more meaningful eye contact with Eric over Jackie's head. "I run into him from time to time."

"Huh," Eric says, nodding back at him. "Does seem like his kind of place."

Jackie just scowls, knocking back the last of her drink.

"Now Pam Macy is a whole other story," Buddy says, catching Jackie's attention again. "Did you know she married a congressman?"

Jackie gasps again, much more scandalized this time. "No! A Republican, I bet."

"Of _course,_ " Buddy says. "Rumor is she got herself knocked up on purpose so he'd marry her."

"Ha!" Jackie says. "That skank! I don't even _want_ to know."

"That means 'please tell us everything you know, and don't leave out any details,'" Eric translates. Jackie sniffs, but doesn't protest.

Buddy grins. "Welcome home, guys."

 

 

 

Nobody drinks and drives in New York, mostly because nobody drives in New York. But it's not like Eric's forgotten how. 

"Eric, carry me inside," Jackie demands.

"Yeah, no," Eric says.

"I can't walk," Jackie says, through a painful-sounding moan. "My legs don't work. They're too full of bourbon."

"Now that's just your own fault," Eric says, who is feeling fairly full of bourbon himself. He squints through the windshield at his parking job - the trick of lining up his rear view mirror with the little window above the garage door seems to work in this car just as well as it always did in the Vista Cruiser. 

"I don't have a boyfriend, and my best friend won't even carry me inside when I'm drunk," Jackie cries. "My life is a disaster."

"I'm your best friend?" Eric asks, drunkenly touched by this declaration. "Jacks, I didn't know you cared!"

"I hate when you call me 'Jacks,' it makes me think of slapjack," Jackie mumbles, leaning hard against the window. Her hair is still pulled to the side in a haphazard ponytail, and her cheek is smushed up against the glass. 

"What would you like me to call you instead?"

"Just Jackie! That's my name. It's a good name."

"Yeah, but I wanted to give you a nickname. You know, how Bogey calls Bacall 'kid,' or Han Solo calls Princess Leia 'your highnessness' - "

"Jackie _is_ a nickname," Jackie insists, peeling her cheek off the window. Blinking her big eyes at Eric in the dim light of the car, she looks like a sad, wilted owl. "Harry calls me 'Jacks' too. I really do hate it."

"That sleazy director they always get for the finales?" Eric frowns. "The one that groped you at the cast party last year?"

Jackie nods silently. 

"Okay. No more 'Jacks.'" Eric reaches out and fumbles for her arm, pulling it across the gear shift between the seats. She has a ring on every single one of her fingers - thin silver bands that glint in the moonlight. Eric rubs the edges of each one with his thumb. "Can I call you Jacqueline, then?"

"No, gross," Jackie says, wrinkling her nose. "Come up with something cooler."

"Siobhan?"

"You already call me that." Jackie twists her hand in his, pressing their palms together. "Call me…'Princess.'"

Eric bursts out laughing.

"Shut up! It's sweet!"

"I will literally commit seppuku before I call you _that,_ " Eric says, tugging at her hand. "Come on, we're drunk, let's go inside." 

"What is step-ooh-koo?" Jackie mumbles, frowning as she struggles with the door handle. "Some kinda sushi?"

"Yeah, Jackie, it's a type of sushi," Eric says. Feeling considerably less drunk than Jackie looks, he pops out of the car and comes around to help her out of the passenger side. She almost falls flat on her face on the pavement, one of her heels catching on the edge of the door. "Easy now, Miss Siobhan."

"It's _Ms._ Siobhan," Jackie says, clutching at his wrists as she pulls herself up. "She's a feminist, you know. We did that for the 18-25 single lady demographic."

"Is that why she's been divorced like eighty times by now?"

"Well, she keeps marrying evil twins," Jackie says. Leaning heavily against Eric's shoulder, she carefully starts making her way towards the kitchen door. "Are you sure you can't carry me?"

"With these chicken arms? Not a chance."

"They're not so chicken anymore," Jackie says, squeezing one of his biceps. "Sort of in-between a chicken and like, a leopard. A giraffe, maybe."

"A _giraffe_ is the middle step between those two?" Eric asks, stumbling a little himself on the patio steps. Reaching out, he grabs the wooden pillar by the bench, steadying Jackie before she falls. She snorts with laughter, gripping his waist with both hands. "Jesus, we shouldn't be in public - "

"Watch it, watch it!" Jackie reaches out and pulls his arm down, right before it swipes one of Kitty's houseplants off the ledge. Yanking it around her waist, she pulls him over the threshold of the door and into the house, snickering. "You're just as drunk as I am, you liar. You could've killed us!"

"Probably," Eric agrees, concentrating most of his limited brain power on navigating them through the kitchen. Full of sharp corners - he knows from experience how much that bitch of a counter hurts when you ram your thigh into it while stumbling towards the basement door. "Couch, couch, couch - "

"Ohmigod," Jackie mumbles, grunting a little as they tumble down onto the familiar golden yellow couch in the living room. The springs squeak dangerously beneath their weight, and Jackie snorts her way into another laugh. "Ohmigod, we're gonna break it."

"Nah." Eric has somehow ended up halfway in her lap. He stares at the buttons on her dress for a second, blearily wondering why they're spinning in gentle circles before he realizes that she's trying to push him up off her legs. "Oh shit, sorry."

Jackie just laughs again, squirming around, her hair bunched up in her face and her clothes askew. The world becomes a blur of legs and arms for a minute or two, and when Eric comes up for air again she's leaning against his chest, her forehead pressed against his collarbone, legs tangled together against the arm rest. 

"We should take our shoes off," Eric says hazily. "My mom's cushions."

"I don't think I have shoes on," Jackie says thoughtfully. 

Eric cranes his neck to check, laughing when he realizes she's right. "You took your shoes off? Where, in the car?"

"I hope so. They're Carvelas."

"I don't know what that means," Eric tells her, reaching up to brush some of the tangled cloud of hair away from her face. She helps him out a little by blowing at her bangs, laughing again - softly, beneath her breath, like she can't even help it. "I assume it's a no on just 'Jack.'"

"God yes," Jackie says, sounding a little breathless. Abruptly Eric realizes that her knees are on either side of his own, most of her weight balanced on his lap. "What's wrong with just calling me 'Jackie'? I like my name."

"I don't know. I feel like I should have something that's just mine," Eric says. He doesn't realize until he's already said it that he hadn't meant to admit it. Most of the things he says to Jackie are like that - dragged out despite his better judgment.

"Why?" she demands.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm drunk," Eric blurts, and nudges her to get off. She grunts once or twice, but untangles herself to sit upright, her knees pulled up beneath her chin, her dress twisted around her thighs like a rumpled nightgown. "You want some water? We should drink some water."

Jackie still looks a little sulky, eyeing him from beneath the dark fringe of her hair. "I guess." She coughs. "Chicken."

"What?" Eric leans over and pokes the side of her forehead. She bats his hand away, hiding a smile. "What'd you call me?"

"I called you a fucking chicken, get out of my face," Jackie says. "I want ice in mine."

"Fine." Eric bites back his words before he accidentally calls her 'princess.' Then in the kitchen, he takes the opportunity to stick his head in the freezer for a minute or two, which helps only a little. 

Jackie's leaning hard on the armrest when he comes back out, her eyelids drooping. The effect of a grown up Jackie - one he knows much better than the Jackie he'd grown up with, all things considered - in the environment of his mother's time-portal of a living room is especially surreal. Eric blinks at her for a second, frozen in the doorway, his head spinning gently in his tired, whiplashed skull. 

"Is that mine?" Jackie asks, blinking at him as he sits back down next to her. Her expression looks a little fuzzy around the edges. 

"Yeah." He watches her down the glass in silence, almost in one go - pausing only once to take a breath. Her nose is wet from the ice when she finally pulls it away. "Better?"

"A little." She smiles, almost shyly, if he can believe his eyes. "Thanks."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Depends." Leaning over, she places the glass carefully on one of Kitty's coasters, her eyebrows furrowed a little in concentration. Eric grins at the back of her head. 

"Depends on what?"

"On how I feel about it after you ask it."

Fair enough. "Did you ask me to do this because you want to fuck _with_ Hyde, or because…"

Jackie jerks her head to look at him, her face dark. "What? Just fuck him, period?"

"I guess." Eric refuses to feel bad about the question. 

"I haven't seen him in years, Eric."

"So? That means something?" Eric scoffs. "Donna and I were together for almost a decade, all together. You forget that we didn't _officially_ split up until she met Cam."

"Oh, I remember that," Jackie says archly. "Those first couple of years in New York were _unbearable._ 'I miss Donna' this, 'I should move back' that." She rolls her eyes. "You were such a _girl_ about her."

"Don't be bitchy," Eric chides. "I'm trying to have an honest thing here."

"I'm always honest," Jackie snaps, sounding offended. "I might not say it in a nice way, but I'm always _honest,_ Eric."

Well, he has to give her that. "Can you just answer my question?"

"No, I don't want to sleep with Steven." Jackie folds her arms together, her mouth pressing into a flat line. "I just want to make him feel a little shitty about himself. Is that such a big crime?"

Eric smiles down at the floor, rubbing his chin with one hand, thinking about it. "No," he finally settles on. "Though I'm not sure I was the right person to pick, if that was your goal."

"Who else is there?" she answers, rhetorically. "Also, enough with the 'poor me' schtick already, Eric. Come on! It's so boring."

"It's an objective statement! Of all the people in the world, Steven Hyde is the _last_ to ever feel jealous of _me_ \- "

"That's bullshit and you know it," Jackie says bluntly, cutting him off at the knees. "He was _always_ jealous of you, Eric. We all were. Why do you think we made fun of you so much?"

The shameful truth of that statement sits between them like an uninvited guest, wedging invisible knees into the space that separates them on the couch. Eric swallows hard, and forces himself to nod. 

"Yeah," he says, "okay. I guess you were."

Jackie's picking at one of her fingernails, a nervous habit that she's developed over the last few years. Eric has watched her grow into so many new habits from her on-deck circle, just off to the side of her life, tracking them and comparing them to the Jackie he used to know: the Jackie with the flared jeans and feathered hair, Jackie who yelled, Jackie who snapped gum in his face in the hallways, Jackie who snickered at him from the driveway as he stammered through his heartfelt speeches to Donna. For so long, he's resisted admitting that she's different - just to himself, like that would help at all. As if the reality of who she is now - successful, beautiful, quietly confident, way out of his league - could be wallpapered over by his memories of the scared, spoiled girl she used to be. 

"God. It's this house." Jackie shivers. "It's like going back in time."

"Yeah." Eric looks around at the dark, quiet living room. His mom's pillows and throws, Red's ratty old armchair, the gold lamé clock on the wall. The television is the only thing that's been updated here, aside from the liquor in the wet bar. "Tomorrow's gonna be even worse."

"You're still on board, right?" Jackie sounds uncharacteristically nervous, still twisting her fingers together against her knees. "It's not just about Steven. Like - he's not even gonna be there, Buddy said."

"No, but your mom's gonna come, right?"

"Probably. She's still teaching at the high school, so." Somehow, Pam Burkhart had ended up as the Point Place High Home Ec teacher, which was one of the main reasons - if not _the_ reason - why he'd decided to say 'fuck it' and head off to New York for the PhD. "I'll make you look good too, you know. I'm a TV star, after all."

"Yes, you are," Eric says, and snags one of her hands before she shreds her nails into disaster. His heart pounding a little painfully against the side of his ribcage, he follows an instinct and presses her knuckles to his mouth, kissing the edges of her rings gently. Like a Princess deserves, he thinks a little hysterically. 

Jackie's eyes are wide when he lifts his head again. He watches her throat bob as she swallows, her bangs trembling around the edges of her face. 

"For the record, I don't really give a shit about how you make me look," he says. 

Jackie swallows one more time before she answers. "Well, that's because you're a dumbass."

Eric smiles at her, his heart still pounding. "So I've been told," he says. 

 

 

 

He sleeps on the couch that night. Sleeps the sleep of a drunk - when he wakes up, it takes him a full minute to realize where he is. There's a very, very scary few moments when he's staring at the ceiling, thinking that it's 1979 again, and the last ten years of his life have been a weird, very boring dream. 

"I did the same thing," Jackie says, drinking some of Red's Chock Full 'O Nuts out of what appears to be a candle holder. "What?" she says defensively, when she catches him looking. "I couldn't find the mugs."

"I am continually shocked and surprised that you don't starve to death whenever I'm not around," Eric says. 

"Please, Eric, that's what we have caterers for," she says. 

The reunion is at four, which gives Jackie a whole seven hours to obsess about her outfit and makeup, which suits Eric just fine. He spends most of it in the basement, confronting his demons. Or playing his old records and digging out his old Star Wars figurines - whatever. 

His mother has fixed it up, ironically making it the only part of the house that actually looks like it belongs in the present day - the old deep freeze is gone, and she's laid down some cheap carpet that looks pretty nice without a bunch of teenagers stomping all over it every day. The old couch is gone, replaced by a few girly looking armchairs and a coffee table. The shower's been ripped out - Red had told him about that, a few months ago. Well, more like bitched and moaned about how much work it was. 

("She says it's strange to have a shower in the basement," he'd said. "Like I'm the one who built the damn house? I told her to take it up with the realtor but apparently the guy's dead and now _I'm_ the asshole."

"You've lived in that house for thirty years and _now_ she realizes the basement shower is weird?" Eric has asked.

"That's what I said!" Red exclaimed. "Not to her face - I'm not an idiot. But I did say it out loud.")

Eric gathers his courage and takes a look into Hyde's old room, which is now back to its original purpose as a "shove all the shit we don't know what to do with" room. He remembers making quite a few cracks about that back when Hyde first moved in - that it was the perfect place for him to sleep. In retrospect, Eric can't believe Hyde didn't punch him in the face _more_ often. 

It's not that he regrets how things turned out - probably the opposite. He and Donna couldn't make it work, but at least they tried. They taught each other a lot about life and love and everything else, and he definitely doesn't lose sleep over any of it. Hyde, on the other hand - Hyde, he regrets. Eric had always known it would be too easy to lose touch with him, the second they weren't in each other's faces every day. And that's exactly what happened - nine months in Africa, and their friendship was, for all practical intents and purposes, over. Eric came back that summer in 1980 and found himself smoking with a stranger. 

He's followed news of Hyde's life the same way Jackie has - unobtrusively, feigning disinterest in the monthly updates from his mom. The silly crash and burn of his first marriage, and the long back-and-forth of his second. That he and Melissa are divorcing isn't a surprise, but Eric sort of wishes it were. He wishes Hyde had kept it together long enough to chase the things he really wanted, rather than the things that were handed to him. And he wishes Jackie hadn't gotten her heart shredded in the process, although he thinks that's maybe a big part of why she is who she is now. 

He sort of hopes Hyde will be there tonight, but he knows he won't. Without someone to keep him anchored, he was always a flight risk. 

"You know, I haven't been this nervous since I guest starred on The Love Boat," Jackie says when he goes to check on her. She's pacing the length of his parents' bedroom, the contents of her suitcase spread out on the bed like she's performing an autopsy. "Or, remember that audition I had for Dallas? It's _worse_ than that."

"Worse than burping in Patrick Duffy's face?" Eric asks, shoving a pile of clothes off the bed so he can sit. Jackie doesn't even blink, which is a greater indication of her distress than anything else. 

" _So_ much worse," Jackie confirms. She spreads out her hands, presenting her outfit. "What do you think?"

She's in a black velvet dress with some kind of mesh at her throat, skin-tight and bunched into ruffles at her left knee. Her hair curled, makeup done, she looks like an Eastern European Demi Moore. "You look nice."

" _Nice_?" 

"Hot?"

"Sleazeball."

"Beautiful," Eric tries.

"Better," Jackie agrees. She eyes him critically. "Is that what you're wearing?"

Eric doesn't take the bait. "A suit is a suit is a suit - shut up," he says, cutting off her reply at the pass. "This is the Daytime Emmys all over again."

"You showed up in a _sweater vest,_ Eric!"

"Susan Lucci told me I looked very handsome," Eric says archly. He taps his watch. "You ready yet or what? We're gonna miss the opening slideshow."

"Oh God," Jackie cries, "let me just take another hour or two on my hair so I can be _sure_ we miss it."

"You think they'll have pictures of you at Prom?" Eric asks, grinning. "You know the one where we drew a unibrow on your face?"

"I hate you," Jackie says, kicking his knee with one heel. Not that hard, though, which means she isn't actually mad. "Seriously, gimme another two minutes and I'll be ready. I need to change my bra - this one's gonna strangle me to death by the end of the night."

Eric finishes the beer he'd opened while she does _that,_ trying not to think too hard about the rustling, strappy sounds occurring on the other side of his mother's bathroom door. In _Red and Kitty's bed,_ for fuck's sake? Not gonna happen. 

( _Better here than Laurie's old room,_ an evil voice whispers. Eric shuts it up with more beer.)

"Do you think Fez will be there too?" Jackie asks, still futzing with her hair as they finally - _finally_ roll out to the car. "His last postcard was from like, I don't know, Siberia or some place, but he always talked about coming back for the reunion to nail Nina Jo Bartell one last time."

"Nah, he's still in Miami," Eric says. "He called me last week. Kept me on the phone for almost an hour babbling about his new business idea."

"Ooh, the disco hair salon?"

"Disco is dead, Jackie," Eric reminds her with a grin, opening the car door for her. "I think this one is some sort of...traveling salon? Like he kept mentioning bicycles. I wasn't really tracking most of it. His accent, you know."

"It's gotten so much worse since he started sleeping with that Cuban girl," Jackie agrees. Then she gasps. "Oh, thank God! My shoes!"

"Thank God," Eric repeats dryly, shutting the door on her squeal. 

They get lost on the way there, absurdly, since the high school has since moved buildings and nobody thought to put this on the goddamn flyer. The building they went to school in is now an empty lot. As they sit there, parked on the side of the street, arguing about what to do next, three kids on skateboards fly past on the sidewalk, hocking loogies at the side of Eric's car. 

"Typical," Jackie says, crossing her arms. 

Since Eric refuses flat out to lower himself to asking a gas station employee for directions in his _fucking hometown,_ they are reduced to driving around aimlessly until they see something that _might_ look like a new high school. Eric chain smokes out of the driver's window, while Jackie redoes her lip liner over and over in the rearview mirror. 

"You know, trade this station wagon out for a van, and this really would be high school again," Jackie comments, as they're rolling past the old Photo Hut, which is still hanging onto life somehow. Eric is sorely tempted to stop in and say hi to Leo, but he knows once they do that they'll _never_ get to the reunion. 

"You had a van, I had a Vista Cruiser," Eric reminds her. He sighs. "I miss that car."

Jackie rolls her eyes at him. "The van was much roomier."

"Oh, I remember." Eric snorts a little when Jackie swats at his arm. "Remember when you and Kelso murdered it up at the lake?"

" _Michael_ killed the van, not me!" Jackie cries. "I only dented it that time I borrowed it for Chip's band. Ugh, Chip." She glowers at her reflection in the mirror. 

"No, no, weren't you having sex in it? That's why it fell through the ice?"

"He was jumping up and down in it," Jackie corrects, shaking her head. "I don't even remember why. I mean, it was _Michael._ "

"Right." Eric takes a left impulsively, more committed now to cruising than he is to their destination. "He and Brooke are probably there right now, holding court."

"Yeah, but we see them every Christmas." Jackie's face lightens. "Betsy won first prize at the science fair, did I tell you?"

"No way, the volcano?!"

"Yep." Jackie beams. "She's such a beautiful little genius."

"Thank God she got Brooke's smarts," Eric says, taking another impulsive turn, to the highway out of town. Maybe he can get like halfway there before she notices. 

No such luck. "Eric! Don't get on the freeway, what are you doing?"

"I haven't seen the water tower in years, Jackie," Eric complains. "C'mon, I know you have trauma or whatever, but - "

"We'll miss the reunion!"

"We can still make it. Just a quick look, then we'll go back. By the time we get there everyone will be drunk, so we can laugh at the sloppy slow dances and skip the awkward sober small talk."

Jackie huffs. "We still have to _find_ the stupid place," she says, but she doesn't sound all that put out about it. "I'm not climbing up the tower. Not in these heels."

"I'll carry you up," Eric promises, grinning. "With my giraffe arms."

"I'm holding you to that," Jackie says. 

 

 

 

It's incredible, that the gravel road is even still there, what with all the new construction that's popped up over the last few years. Eric was expecting this side of town to be solid neighborhood by now, but granted, it's still downwind from the town dump. Still smells like the same old trash he remembers. 

There are two other cars parked on the side bar that Eric doesn't recognize, but Jackie squeals so loud his ears ring the second she seems them. "Park, Eric, park!"

"I'm parking, Jesus," he says, pulling up next to a blue coupe. Jackie's scrambling out of the passenger side almost the second he stops. "What the fuck, Jackie?"

"That's Donna's car, idiot!" she exclaims, calling over her shoulder. Sure enough, Eric hears voices as soon as he steps out of his side - familiar voices. His heart skips a beat despite himself. 

When he turns the corner into the small clearing in front of the timber, Jackie and Donna are there, hugging each other and yelling into each other's ears. Another woman hangs back behind them, grinning at the display, a beer bottle dangling from one hand. It takes Eric a second to place her, it's been so long. 

"Goddamn," he says, "Angie Barnett?"

"Eric Forman!" she greets, jogging past Donna and Jackie, still hugging and rocking back and forth, babbling into each other's hairdos. "Been a long time, man."

Eric meets her high five and then pulls her into a short hug, lifting her briefly off the ground and making her laugh. "Damn, you look great," he says, pulling back. And it's true: slim and healthy looking, her hair now in box braids gathered together in a beaded scarf, she's wearing a green dress that makes her look like a rock star that's just stopped by on her way to the after parties. Bangles jingle loudly on her wrists, and she's got tattoos all down her right arm. "What has it been - five years? Six?"

"Something like that," she says, squeezing his arm. "You look good too. Like the beard!"

"Jackie made me grow it out," Eric says.

As if summoned, Jackie suddenly pulls out of her hug. If Eric's not mistaken, she even looks a little _teary eyed._ "I did! I am responsible for that," she announces, still clutching Donna's hand. "Hey, Angie, sorry I didn't hug you first but Donna still does come before you in the hierarchy. Technically."

Angie just laughs. "Good to see you too, Jackie."

Finally given the space to look, Eric takes in the woman he was almost married to: still blonde, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a black dress, she's still a knockout, of course. She smiles sheepishly at him, a little tearful herself. "Hey Eric," she says. Still that same smoky, radio voice. Eric shivers a little. "Long time no see."

"Yeah," he says, refusing to let it get awkward. He steps forward to hug her, and she meets him halfway, squeezing his waist lightly and leaning her cheek against his for a brief, friendly moment. "Wow, you look great too. We all look fuckin' great," he says as he pulls away, grinning at Jackie a little to make sure she doesn't get weird. To his relief, she's smiling goofily at them both. "All grown up, dressed to the nines, and...drinking in an empty field. Alright!"

Donna laughs. "We skipped out on the reunion early," she says, exchanging a glance with Angie. "It was pretty sad. Lots of fat football players and pregnant color guard girls."

"Ugh, color guard," Jackie says dismissively. "They were the _worst._ "

"We got lost," Eric informs them. Donna lets out a peal of laughter. "I know, I know. Nobody told us they bulldozed the old high school!"

"It's on Eighth now," Angie tells them, grinning. "Smaller than the old one. It's kinda tucked in behind the Pricemart - easy to miss from the road."

"You're _kidding,_ " Jackie says. 

"Jesus, we must have driven past it at least three times," Eric says with a groan. 

Donna nudges his arm. "So you came here instead? Old times' sake?"

"Something like that," Jackie says, rolling her eyes. "He was gonna make me climb the stupid water tower."

"Didn't that guy Charlie die out there?" Angie asks, wrinkling her nose.

" _Yes,_ " Donna says stridently.

Eric waves his hand. "Who even _remembers_ that guy?" he says. Donna chortles a little, clapping one hand over her mouth, and Jackie shudders dramatically. "Anyway Angie, what are you even doing here? You're way too cool for our crowd and you know it."

"I was just tagging along," Angie says with a shrug. "I'm catching a ride back to Chicago with Cam and Donna tomorrow, so I figured, what the hell." She smiles, faltering a little when she glances over at Jackie. "Just in town to see family and shit, you know."

"You can mention him," Jackie says, rolling her eyes. "I'm twenty-eight and I'm on TV. I can deal with hearing my ex-boyfriend's name said out loud."

Donna laughs. "That's right, Siobhan O'Rourke doesn't take shit from _nobody,_ " she says, leaning down to snag her own beer bottle from the grass. The lights on the coupe are on, the radio playing softly, and a blanket is spread out on the ground, but none of them seem inclined to sit. "Cam and I dig your show, you know."

"Really?" Jackie looks genuinely pleased. "Wait until you see the premiere."

"Oh my God, are you and Mikhail gonna get back together?" Donna asks. 

Jackie gestures her closer, grinning. Donna abandons Eric without a blink, linking arms with Jackie as they huddle together in front of the headlines. Eric quirks a smile at the shadows they cast against the rustling trees. 

"Girls and their soaps," Angie says, clucking her tongue. She hits Eric's arm lightly with her fist. "You want a beer? I assume the reunion's officially off the table," she says, with a look over at Donna and Jackie. 

"I dunno about that," Eric says, "she was pretty attached to rubbing it in everybody's face."

"I don't think she has to show up in a tight dress to do that," Angie says wryly. 

"You and I might know that, but she doesn't," Eric replies. Angie laughs softly - a fond sort of laugh. "But yeah, I'll take a beer. Why not?"

"Good way to be," Angie compliments. 

They make it to the blanket eventually - Eric and Angie, anyway, while Donna and Jackie retreat to the inside of Donna's car - "for girl talk," Jackie says, "and also, my ass is cold." Turns out Angie's married too, though she doesn't wear a ring for reasons she's fairly vague about. 

"Met him through my dad, of course," she says. "Where else do I go other than work?" She shakes her head at herself. "He's alright though. Think I'll keep him for awhile."

"Good job? Got a car, ambitions, good teeth, all that?"

She grins over the lip of her beer bottle. "All of the above," she says proudly. "He's a _baseball player._ "

"Whoa - pro?"

"Minor league, but on his way up," she replies. "His name's Ezra. You'd like him - he's a history nerd, too."

"Next time you're in New York, you should look me up then," Eric says. "I've got an _incredibly_ uncomfortable futon you guys can have for a night or two."

"Oh, word?"

"Yeah. Rats in the bathroom, pidgeon shit all over my skylight - the real NYC experience."

Angie laughs. "Might just take you up on that, Forman."

Eric finishes off his beer - his second and last of the night, he's decided - with one long swig. "And how's Hyde?"

"Oh, the elephant in the empty field?" Angie says wryly. She shakes her head, this time sadly. "He's been better. He and Melissa are splitting up, you know."

"I heard." Eric sobers a little, looking up at the water tower, sticking up over the trees in front of them. "Heard she's pregnant, too."

"Now, that one's made up." Angie smiles wryly. "Not sure how that rumor got started, but no babies in _that_ mess, thank God." She snorts. "He doesn't want kids. He's been pretty firm about it ever since...well." She glances back at the car.

"Right." Eric glances back too. Donna and Jackie are still chattering away, laughing occasionally, so loud it rings through the windshield. "And Donna?"

"Alright too." Angie grins at him. "No babies yet either. But she and Cam are thinking about it."

"Good. She'd be a really good mom." 

"Yeah," Angie agrees. Her smile turns sharp. "And you and Miss Daytime Emmy? What the hell's going on there, man?"

"I don't even know," Eric confides, tilting his gaze away, up at the sky. "Gimme another dozen beers and maybe I'll tell you."

"You guys have been out in New York together for what, seven years now? And you still don't know?"

"The first three didn't really count," Eric confesses. "And then I spent another year on sabbatical, on another tour in Sudan. So really it's just been the last two or so."

"Hm," Angie says.

"What?" Eric grins at her. "Go on. Say it."

"Nothing. You're just still...kind of a girl about this shit, aren't you?"

Eric sighs. "Actually," he says, "now I'm a _giraffe._ "

"What?" Angie gives a short, confused laugh. 

"Long story," Eric says. 

 

 

 

"So," Donna says. 

"So." Eric pulls the blanket out straight, making a spot for her to sit. As contrary as ever, Donna plops her ass down on the grass on the other side, and cocks an eyebrow at him. He holds up both hands in defeat, and she laughs. 

"Jackie's definitely interrogating Angie about Hyde right now, you know," Donna says, rubbing a fresh beer bottle against the side of her dress and pulling a pocket knife out of one booted heel to open it. 

"Oh yeah, I know," Eric says. "'Let's go piss together in the woods' is always code for 'tell me everything you know about my ex.'"

Donna laughs. "Want another?" she asks, holding up the newly opened bottle. He shakes his head. "Oh, very responsible. Still got sights set on the reunion?"

"God, I hope not," Eric says. Feeling bold, he shoots her a grin. "I'm actually gonna try and get laid tonight, and I'd like to remember it tomorrow morning."

Donna throws her head back and cackles. "Good fucking luck with that!"

"I know, right." Eric snags the bottle out of her slack hand. "Well, maybe just one drink."

Donna keeps laughing, falling sideways a little to lean her weight against one hand. "I pegged that years ago, you know," she says. "You and Jackie. The second you two took off for the big city together, I was like - " she snaps her fingers and then points.

"You and I were still together!"

"Only technically." Donna sighs. "I was 'still together' with Randy, too. And you had that girl in Khartoum you didn't wanna tell me anything about - "

"Amina," Eric says, with a wistful sigh. "Man, she was something else. She screamed like a _banshee_ whenever I went down on her - "

"Pig!" Donna half-laugh, half-yells, kicking him with one foot.

" - Fractions," Eric finishes innocently, handing her back her beer bottle. "What'd you think I was gonna say?"

"You asshole," Donna says, still chortling into her shoulder. "Good thing I'm over you."

"Yeah, good thing," Eric jokes, kicking her back - a bit more gently. She grins at him fondly. "Heard you were thinking about letting Cam knock you up."

"I'm considering it," Donna says with a thoughtful nod. "I'm leaving SPIN next month."

"Really? Why?"

She shrugs. "Getting bored, mostly," she says. "I've got a few possible freelance things over the next few months, but honestly I'm looking forward to just taking it easy for a while. And Cam's mom just got diagnosed with cancer, he wants to spend some time back home with her - "

"Man, I'm sorry," Eric interrupts. "That's rough."

She nods. "Yeah, he's taking it pretty hard. That's why he didn't come tonight - he had a bad phone call with her today," she says. She smiles a little, humor creeping back into her voice. "My parents are currently _cheering him up._ "

"Lord have mercy," Eric says, and she laughs again. "Haven't seen Midge, but Bob and I had a fun talk the other day - "

"He told me!" Donna hits him again. "The sweater! Oh my God, she's an evil genius."

"That, she is," Eric says, chortling. "I almost swallowed my own tongue."

"You really haven't closed the deal yet?" Donna asks, a bit wickedly. She glances over her shoulder, scanning the clearing for Angie and Jackie, but there's still nothing but the trees. "Seven _years_ , Forman, _seriously -_ "

"Come on, cut me some slack," Eric says. "We really were just friends for most of it."

"Until recently," Donna concludes.

"Right." Eric shrugs. "The deal was we'd pretend to date, make you and Hyde insane with jealousy, and everyone who made fun of her in high school would regret all their life choices the second they saw her in that dress, but, uh - "

Donna's grinning again, humor sparkling in her eyes. "Well, consider me insane," she says, "if that helps."

"I think it's just intense," Eric says, reasoning it out as he says it out loud, for the first time. Of course he can do it with Donna, the way he can't do it in his own head - it's always been like that. "We just keep inching around it because we know it's a big deal, and we're scared of it."

"Can't get anything done without a little fear," Donna says wisely. "That's how I knew it with Cam, you know. I took one look at him and I almost had a panic attack." She smiles fondly. "Nothing like it was with you - no offense. With you I was always so comfortable, even when I was scared. But with Cam, it's like…"

"High stakes," Eric finishes for her, nodding.

"Right." Donna smiles at him, affectionate and wise. The corner of Eric's heart that will always be hers twinges in response. It's a lot smaller now than it used to be, but still hanging on, despite everything. "Some advice, maybe? That dress she's wearing…"

"Yeah?"

"The zipper's on the left side." Donna winks at him. "Beneath the mesh."

"Donna, you remain the best person I have ever known," Eric says effusively. She snorts again, drowning it down with a long pull from her beer. "Seriously, the best out of all of us. Hands down."

"Now, that's just not true," Donna says, with a crooked grin. "Jackie's on _television,_ you know."

"So I've heard," Eric says. 

 

 

 

"You and Donna were talking for a long time," Jackie says, back in the car again. 

Eric's following Donna's tail lights back out to the main road, and misses the tone at first. "Yeah, it was nice to catch up."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh, what is that?" Eric says, finally catching on. "Seriously?"

"I didn't _say_ anything," Jackie says huffily, crossing her legs. 

"You and Donna talked for just as long," Eric accuses. "And in the car, too - for all I know you were making out in the backseat while Angie and I talked about fucking baseball!"

"Oh, you wish," Jackie snaps. "And again, I didn't say anything."

"Jackie," Eric says, with a weary sigh, "please, please, _please_ can we just skip this part? I'm tired, I'm wearing uncomfortable shoes, I'm driving drunk _again_ \- "

"Skip what?" Jackie says innocently. "Turn here."

Eric does without thinking much about it, realizing belatedly that she's pulled him off onto one of the frontage roads that run parallel to the country highway. "Where am I going now?"

"Well, we're not climbing the water tower, that's for sure," Jackie says, "but there's another pull off down here that Fez and I used to go to all the time. I wanna see if it still exists."

"You're taking me to your car sex spot with Fez?" Eric asks incredulously. 

"No," Jackie snaps, punching his arm. "We used to come out here to bird watch, idiot."

Eric is stunned into silence by _that._

"He's an amateur ornithologist," Jackie says, as if that isn't a completely insane thing to say. "It was sort of a side hobby."

"Okay, I must be drunker than I thought," Eric says, still blank-headed. 

"Just drive," Jackie says impatiently. 

Following her directions, Eric ends up navigating into a shaded picnic area a few miles south of the clearing they were just in - the main one, where everyone used to gather to drink and talk shit to each other back in school. Pulling at his arm, Jackie tugs him out of the car again and over to a rickety old picnic table, half buried in the grass next to a much newer-looking, paved shelter, with a water fountain and an iron grill for barbecuing. 

"That wasn't here, back in the day," Jackie says, unnecessarily. She climbs carefully up onto the table - still in her ridiculous heels, which is sort of impressive. But then again Eric's seen her running full speed down a crowded New York street in those things, so maybe this is child's play for her skill level. "We'd come out here a lot, when we were dating. Not to have sex," she says, a little accusingly, "because we didn't actually _have_ sex that often, for your information."

"You didn't?" Eric comes to stand in front of her, bracing her with one hand as she sits down carefully on the wood. With the added height of the table, her face is a few inches above his, and her head blocks out most of the light from the half-full moon. 

"No. It wasn't really that sort of thing, between us," Jackie says softly. She gives a restful sigh, tilting her head up to look at the sky. "I forget how many stars you can see. It's nothing like back home."

Something sharp twinges in Eric's chest, hearing her refer to New York as 'home.' "I don't miss it, though. Do you?"

"No," she says firmly.

They're both quiet for a few moments. Eric has a mind to ask her why she brought him here, but it feels kind of stupid to say it out loud. Like it would be breaking a moment or something. 

"I'm sorry we missed the reunion," he says. 

Her mouth quirks up. "No you're not."

"No, I'm not," Eric says, "but I'm sorry I didn't get to see you rub it in everyone's face."

Jackie shrugs. "You saw me at the Emmys," she says. "It's the same basic thing. Big hair, tight dress, bitchy attitude."

"I like it when you act like a bitch," Eric says, meaning it genuinely. She's startled into a laugh, smacking his arm playfully. "No, really. I do."

"You told me once that I was a 'really nice person hiding in a spoiled brat's body,'" Jackie says. 

"Did I say that? To your face?" Jackie nods solemnly, but she's still smiling, her face light with good humor. "Well, I'm an asshole, you shouldn't listen to me."

"You were right, though," she says. "I was. I still am."

"You're nice when it suits you," Eric says, reaching up to brush some of that big hair away from her eyes. She blinks a few times, in rapid succession, at the touch of his hand against her forehead. "You don't do anything unless it suits you. I like that."

"And you do things you don't have to, because you're so full of goodness that you just have to share it," Jackie says, her voice oddly choked, like she's speaking through a tight throat. "I like that about _you_."

"Really?" She nods. "You've never said."

"Come on, Eric," Jackie replies, and her voice is wry, "you spend three months every year in Sudan teaching children how to read. You play basketball with the kids on the first floor of your building and you always let them win. You came all the way here, to a place you hate, when your parents weren't even _in town,_ just to make me feel better - "

"Hey," Eric says, "I actually hate spending time with my parents in person, so that's not exactly a fair assessment - "

"You went to school for like eight hundred years to study, what, like - medieval wars or whatever? And somehow I _never_ bored listening to you talk about it. How is that even possible?"

Her voice sounds just this side of awed, and Eric has to swallow back some weird, sudden emotion before he can reply. "And yet, you still can't keep straight what period of history I _actually_ study."

"I said I don't get bored, not that I actually listen," Jackie says, grinning a private smile. "Tell me again what you're a doctor of, Forman."

"History," Eric says. 

"History of what?"

Eric slides one hand into her hair and pulls her downward, pressing his cheek against hers. Her entire body shudders at the sudden movement, her knees pressing in tight against his waist, grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket with both hands. He can smell her perfume and feel the velvet of her dress against the underside of his forearms. 

"Religion," he says, murmuring the word into her ear. She shudders again, her shoulders drop, and then finally, _finally,_ a kiss.

They've kissed before - once or twice at Christmas parties, beneath mistletoe - a few more times in high school, playing Truth or Dare in a circle - but never for real, never with meaning. Eric keeps his hands on her face but lets her control it - letting her make the choice to deepen it, to draw it out, make it last. She gasps a little when she finally pulls away, still tugging at his jacket with her hands. Her knees are trembling a little too. 

"God," she says. 

"Yes, predominantly," Eric replies, "many prehistoric religions were polytheistic, but my research mainly focuses on post-Reformation religious movements in the Ottoman Empire - "

"Holy shit, really? Shut up," Jackie says, and kisses him again. This time she doesn't pull back. 

 

 

 

Sex on the picnic table is quickly ruled out - splinters. Also apparently she'd done _stuff_ with Fez on it. What _stuff,_ she won't say. 

"It's none of your business!" she squeals. 

"Literally, my hands are inside your panties right now," Eric says. 

"You're not a historian of my panties, _Eric,_ " Jackie replies irritably. (She's got a point there, he grudgingly admits.)

The car it is: Eric spends five or ten minutes trying to figure out how to lay the back seats down while Jackie cackles at him from the driveway; failing that option, they get down and dirty in the driver's seat, Jackie scrunched up against the wheel with her dress around her waist. Eric has one or two more intense high school flashbacks - just to round out the night - but the reality of the present is too overwhelming to ignore: Jackie, breathlessly laughing as she struggles to take off her bra, the sudden honk of the horn when he accidentally hits it trying to push the seat back, the quick double-time pounding of his heart whenever she twists her hips just right, the wet spring air sneaking in through the cracked windows, raising goosebumps on her skin, making her shiver whenever she pulls away. Jackie Burkhart, flesh and blood. He can't deny it anymore. 

They can only get so far before the absurdity gets too much: eventually they're both laughing too hard to take themselves seriously anymore. Jackie kisses his neck, wet and sloppy, and clambers back over to the passenger side again - still shamelessly disheveled, her hair tangled up around her blushing face. 

"You're absolutely beautiful," Eric tells her, keeping one of his hands on her bare knee. He likes the little notch at the knee joint, that seems perfectly made for his hand. So many times tonight, he's wanted to reach over and hold her right there - keep her close enough to touch. "A beautiful, spoiled brat."

"I know," Jackie says with a dreamy sigh. Then she squeals in surprised laughter when he pinches her thigh. "Kidding, kidding!"

"Come over here, let me just," Eric says, pulling her over the gear shift to kiss her again. She laughs into it a little, letting him bite her lip, squeezing his fingers and wiggling her shoulders, like she's bouncing up and down in excitement. He laughs at her when he pulls away. "Were you really jealous of Donna? Come on."

"Sort of. No." Jackie tilts her head. "Did you really think we were faking?"

"Not for a second," he tells her. 

She smiles at him, wide and earnest. "You wanna go home and fuck in your parents' bed?" 

Eric's heart almost stops. "I love you."

"Love you too." She smacks a kiss against his cheek, pulling her dress back up to cover her breasts. "Come on. Get driving already."

Eric's already got the key in the ignition. "Sure thing, Princess."


End file.
